


On What is Holy (On What Makes Angels)

by madhattedsoup



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ordinary People, Angst, Fluff, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attacks, Queerplatonic Relationships, Roommate, anxiety!Cas, asexual!Cas, bisexual!dean, grey-romantic!Dean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-20
Updated: 2015-10-10
Packaged: 2018-04-05 05:23:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4167552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madhattedsoup/pseuds/madhattedsoup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two twenty-something best friends share an apartment in Seattle, navigating the territories of sexuality, romance, relationships, family drama, the bliss of coexistence, and what it means to need and be needed.  </p>
<p>This cute and sometimes angsty fic explores Dean and Cas as young queerplatonic roommates in Seattle, WA, knowing what they need from each other and navigating what it is they want from each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Misunderstood

"I actually think angels are very misunderstood."

He had said it at a party once, then smiled into his hardly-touched beer; it was received with a few hesitant giggles and a plethora of absent stares. Future invitations from those acquaintances ceased after that, his name earning its place on the hipster-blacklist. It hadn't even become a joke line, one teasable utterance that made him seem cooler than he was. It was swept under a rug with disdain.

The second time Cas said it, munching idly on a hamburger in front of the television, the comment was greeted with an encouraging french-fry grin by the boy sitting shoulder to shoulder beside him.

"Yeah? ...Okay, tell me your theory of God's Heavenly Emo Host."

"Well," The twenty-something continued, pausing only to take another nibble out of the squashed bun, "people think they just fly to us on Earth and just make humans happy, right? That they follow every person's wish or whim, pour blessings down upon us." He swallowed the bite he'd been mulling over. "Every supposedly devout person can project their own moralities onto these creatures of God. Messengers and Warriors become ... appeasers and gift-givers. I mean, that's what they really are, I think. Just blank-faced deliverers of the Divine's raw justice. Whatever that is."

Dean blinked at him, a fry slipping out of his greased fingertips. "You have really thought this through, haven't you." He nudged him playfully with his shoulder, causing Cas to sway.

"Not really."

"I know you don't even believe in angels, man."

"And you do?"

"Sure. There's one spilling ketchup on my carpet right now."

Cas's eyes widened, then he cast his eyes down in time to see the burger's condiments ooze onto his foot. "V-very funny, Dean."

"I ain't laughin'." Dean stuffed the last crumbs of french fries into his mouth and chewed them around behind his grin. Cas was used to these flirtatious comments. He was always trying to fluster him. It usually worked. As evidenced by the ketchup, messy between his toes. 

"So tell me, angel. Are you an appeaser or...a warrior?"

Cas took a sip from Dean's coke, spun the straw between two fingers. He reached for the remote and upped the volume. Bombs fell before his eyes, rattled the coffee table. He clenched his toes tightly. Ketchup squelched between them.

 

||

 

The next time either of them brought up angels was in a hospital.

 

"You lookin' for someone, honey?"

Dean's eyes snapped up to the lady behind the counter. "Uh. Yeah. Yeah, Cas Novak, um."

The nurse tapped a few keys and scanned her computer screen. "Yes, Novak. Okay. He is in room....oh."

Dean blinked, waited. "Oh...?" he prompted, trying poorly to hide his impatience. 

The nurse squinted into his face. "I'm, I'm sorry honey, but his information is restricted. No visitors. Only kin. You'll have to wait out here."

Dean's heart plummeted into his shoes. "Look, ma'am," he said quickly as the lady turned and beckoned to help the next in line, "Ma'am. Hey, hey. Listen to me. Please. Cas doesn't, he doesn't have any family, okay? Here," his sweating hands fumbled over his leather wallet, struggling it out of his jeans and producing a photo. "See, that's us at our place, we're roommates."

The nurse failed to manage more than a quick glance at the photo before fixing her eyes on Dean. "I'm sorry, hon, I honestly am. but his restrictions --"

"Okay but -- but listen I know for a fact that nobody that's 'kin' is going to come through those doors, okay? Please. I'm right here. He's gotta be freaking out back there. All alone."

The nurse cleared her throat slightly, though he wasn't sure if it was out of sympathy or annoyance. "I can't override policy without the patient's consent." She paused for a moment. "We'll send a nurse with a form. That's if he's awake," she cautioned, seeing the relief wash over the young man's face. "And if he isn't, you'll be stuck in the waiting room until he can sign a waiver. Understand, hon?"

Dean nodded rapidly and thanked the nurse, standing at the counter way too long until a gruff old man pushed past him forcefully. He took a seat and waited.

After about twenty minutes of relentless foot tapping, focused green eyes flicking about the space, a young nurse with dreadlocks poked out of the doorway and called out a friendly, "Dean Winchester?"

Dean leapt out of his seat and met him at the door. "Uh, yes," Dean said lamely. The nurse smiled, kind eyes crinkling. 

"Dean, I'm just going to need to check an ID, and then you're free to see your friend."

"Right." Dean fished his wallet out yet again, pulling a very different photo out of it this time.

The nurse smiled at him. "This way."

 

"I know what you're thinking, you're thinking, 'what the hell Dean?' But, you know, I just figured. Ahem. Figured you'd like it." 

Lying on his side in the hospital bed, fingers balled into fists beside him, Cas's bright blue eyes swept toward the small porcelain knicknack on the bedside table, listened to Dean stumble over his words. Dean was worried. He knew he shouldn't be. Cas would be fine. He just couldn't stop shaking. That's all. He would be fine.

_"Hey, kiddo? Cas? You all right there?" Terror clawing its way up his throat, settling there, suffocating him. Heart racing, ears pounding. On the ground before anyone can catch him._

"--Ironically. You know. Ha, ha, angel for an angel." Dean inhaled loudly, letting his thumbs circle each other in a steady rhythm. "I... It's funny... I promise."

Cas blinked up at Dean. He reached out his hand. Dean reached back and clasped it tightly in his own. Another shudder wracked Cas's body and he closed his eyes, causing Dean to drop his own gaze to the floor. For long minutes he focused on breathing, in four, out six, in hopes that Cas's ragged fluctuations might eventually match the pattern.

_Eyes everywhere, stranger's eyes, watching him fall apart, watching him die. Muscles shaking. Violent and turbulent and lonely._

"...It's ugly."

Dean's lips quirked at the edges. His out-six was a little sharp with relief. "Hey now, I thought it looked kinda like you. Got your hair, your eyes. Though this guy definitely uses too much product. You got that Harry Potter hair." Another shudder. Dean chewed his inner lip. Refocused his breathing efforts. It was a subtle thing, and not really much help, but dammit he was going to do it anyway. At least it gave him the illusion of helping.

"And you know," Dean struck up again, "angels are kinda misunderstood. People seem to think they got these baby faces....all pale skinned...." He quirked an eyebrow, running his fingers over the painted figurine -- a cheap craft from the farmer's market. "Hell, these guys are supposed to live above the clouds, right? Closer to the sun. Am I supposed to believe they have no friggin' melatonin?"

Cas murmured something, nearly nothing.

"Hmm?" 

"...melanin... Melatonin's..."

"Oh, sleep...yeah. Whatever."

"I want to sleep."

Dean rubbed his thumb over Cas's knuckles. "I bet you do."

 

||

 

The angel thing wasn't brought up again for a month after the ER trip, and this time it's because Dean broke it.

 

"Cas, Cas, Cas, hey, hey Cas, c'mere," Dean grinned, tripping slightly over his own feet as he headed into the living room from the kitchen, wrapping his arms around Cas's waist and leaning his chin onto his shoulder. "Hey man. I love you."

Cas tugged on the hem of his soft sweater, rolling his eyes. "Yes. I know, Dean." He was sipping down his second beer of the hour, Dean his fifth. It made Cas feel good in a way that was very safe, and warm, always so warm. He liked the way Dean's inebriated brain worked, the cycle of philosophy and terrible jokes, the declarations of love and of hate and pretty much any damn thing in between. He liked winding up on the balcony, hands entwined and sometimes lips and hips as well.

They were best friends. But there was love in there too.

"...'n you love me too."

"You're a child, Dean."

"Come on." Dean pulled away and slid back into the kitchen, picking up two empty bottles of beer before identifying a third as the one he was currently working his way through. "You do. You love me too."

Cas glanced at the space above the fireplace, where picture frames and odd trinkets decorated the mantel. His eyes rested briefly on the small ceramic angel and he snorted. "Sometimes." 

Dean's jaw fell open; he clutched his chest in mock hurt. "Scuze me, roomie? Sometimes?" The pair locked eyes across the small space of their apartment. Cas held the stare for much longer than he thought he'd be able to. Finally, inevitably, he cracked a sly smile.

It was Dean's invitation to return to him, beer sloshing a little in hand. He rested his free hand on Cas's waist. "Cuz I'll be honest, Cas, _sometimes,_ you know, I get the sense that...." he chuckled slightly, "...that you love me _more'n_ sometimes...on the balcony....you know you just...." he laughed again, taking a swig of beer. "...give me that sense."

"Last beer," Cas muttered warningly at his nonsense, though his eyes were all smile. Dean shrugged it off with a casual 'yeah, yeah' and rested his forehead against Cas's cheek, inhaling his scent. Cas's smile widened, so easy. He tugged at Dean's shirt, and Dean's arms swung around him, settled on his shoulders. The other boy grinned smugly, took his last drink.

Things were fine, things were great. A tipsy slow dance. Dean hummed softly. Cas's breath hitched a little in his throat.

Dean's arms fell to his sides. His bottle slid to the carpet harmlessly as his unfocused eyes sought connection with the other's. "Okay?" He murmured, trying to blink away the tipsy haze. "Your chest? Are you...?"

Cas laughed then, lightly. "No, Dean, I'm fine. I'm great."

"Anxiety monster's not... uhm....'ttacking?"

Cas tilted his head, smiling at his drunk friend. "No. Not right now. Just hiccups." Since the panic attack he'd had at work last month had landed him in the ER, it seemed that Dean was more eager to find a red flag, to catch the problem before it takes him away again. Cas figured this was fair. He never wanted to lose it in a setting like that again. The isolating fear, the pain in his chest. The eyes, so many pairs of strange eyes staring. The lonely car ride with his boss. The questioning from doctors, nurses. Too many eyes watching but he'd been so alone. But he hadn't had one that bad ever since. He was okay. 

He cleared his throat, smiled. "No monsters here for you to hunt, Dean."

Dean's shoulders relaxed. He laced his fingers into Cas's own and tugged lightly. "Know what's a great cure for hiccups?"

"Hmm."

"More beer. I'll get you one."

"Funny Dean. Watch out--"

The beer bottle that lay discarded at their feet sought revenge for its mistreatment, and Dean went down, grasping at anything within reach. Cas's sweater. The mantelpiece. Cas gripped him tightly and pulled him out of the fall.

The angel figurine shattered instantly on the floor.

The two stared at it for a silent moment. Dean swallowed. Then he turned around with as much ferocity as he could manage while still off-balance, gripped Cas's face in his hands, and said, very seriously, "That's... _nothing_. You're not gonna shatter."

Cas wasn't really sure what to say. Dean had said it with so much forced sobriety that it was hard for the dark-haired boy to fight off a smile. He lay a hand gently over one of Dean's, gazed back for a little while. Nodded. Then let his eyes wander over to the balcony. They flicked back to Dean, a question.

He responded with a cheeky grin, a careful tug, and a few strides carried them out into the cool night.

Painted blue eyes stared lifelessly into the ceiling, jagged edges surrounding their gaze.

It was fine, it was great.


	2. Four||Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cas is super anxious about things and Dean pines for sex.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heavy on the Caretaker!Dean in this chapter, and equally heavy on the Anxiety!Cas, so hope you enjoy!
> 
> EDIT: Updated some of the formatting issues!

Dean was officially in a dry spell.

It'd been two entire months since the last time he had sex with someone. This past few weeks had been a terrible whiplash of heavy flirting and untimely erections. He wasn't sure what was more frustrating -- the fact that he couldn't seem to get a date of _any_ gender, or the fact that he was having trouble keeping himself in check with Cas.

They didn't have sex. That wasn't Cas's thing. 

They did plenty of things that best friends were allowed to do, and some that maybe they were not. Dean was by nature a highly sexual being, and Cas...he was a big-hearted romantic. And Dean had an aversion to dating relationships. In their affections they met each other somewhere in the vague middle space between. They held hands, shared kisses (more chaste on Cas's end than on Dean's), and one time - just once - there was an...incident with assisted masturbation....an incident unlikely to ever repeat itself but which Dean had _definitely_ filed away in his mind for later access.

Sometimes it made their friendship kind of hard. No, that wasn't right. Their bond had always been incredibly _easy._ Dean supposed it really just made their friendship kind of weird.

Like now - Dean was much more eager to touch Cas, to flirt with him, to err on the side of sexual with every physical encounter. He knew that for Cas, it was all about affection, closeness. Most of the time he could meet him right there, but then, most of the time, he was actually getting laid. And it didn't help matters any just how attractive he was to Dean. It was proving itself to be a major problem of late.

To counter this, at the end of this particularly shitty week in March, when Dean finally found someone to fuck him, he went for someone very much the opposite.

 

|| TUESDAY

 

Cas gazed at the ceiling from his bed, one arm resting lazily above his head, the other pressed against his ribcage, fingers splayed soothingly. Four in, six out. Four in, six out. He was okay.

Four in --

_We'll see you soon, brother._

Cas choked on his breath, swallowed it back down. Resumed. Four in, six out. Four in, six out. Shakier breaths than before, but for the most part still just thoughts.

_What do they want? Why now?_ His brother Gabe hadn't mentioned the nature of their business with him, or even their business in Seattle itself. Just a brief, "Brother Dearest wants you to join us at Santigno's for lunch tomorrow. Wear something nice. You know how much he hates your sweaters." 

Santigno's was all the way on the North side of the city. He didn't drive. Dean would be working. And he couldn't take the bus in dress pants. Nausea swelled in the pit of his stomach. He closed his eyes. Four in, six out. Four in, six out. Four in, six out. Footsteps.

A familiar hand set itself against his slightly elevated knee, and a warm body slid up along his own, settling its hips gingerly between his thighs. He opened his eyes. Dean smirked down at him, elbows resting on either side of Cas to support himself. "Heya, Cas," he greeted, touching his forehead briefly to Cas's before reaching in to kiss his lips. But Cas turned his head to the side in gentle deflection. Dean quirked an eyebrow. "Nah?" 

Cas turned back, gave a small, apologetic smile. Dean settled himself more affectionately into the grove he had created for himself against Cas's body and wound a hand into his messy dark hair instead, his easy smile never fading. "Listen, Cas, I gotta tell you somethin' quick. It's about tomorrow night. You got plans?"

Four in, six out. Cas gripped Dean's arms and rolled them both onto their sides, locking eyes with him. "I don't know, do I?"

"Uh...So...tomorrow's the second Wednesday, so it's..."

"Poker night. Right. I, um, don't think I'll tag along. I can entertain myself here."

"Yeah. The thing is," Dean gestured vaguely with his hand, "Garth and I had to switch hosting on account of, uh, I guess his girlfriend's parents are in town?"

Cas's eyes widened in realization. "So it's--here?" His stomach churned.

"Uh, yeah. That's why I just wanted to make sure you weren't throwing a rave in the living room," Dean chuckled. "Cas? Whoa, whoa, hey." The other boy had begun breathing erratically. Four in, six-- 

_Can't do it, can't do that--_

A small, stifled noise sounded within his throat. Immediately Dean persuaded him to roll onto his back again, implementing a trick very familiar to the two of them. He stroked Cas's hair a couple times before moving his upper body over the other's once again, this time holding himself so that his chest, when full, was just barely exerting pressure against Cas's. "You're all right. Feel my breaths." He breathed, four in, six out. Cas tried to focus on Dean's chest, their tool of finding that timed pressure to help maniuplate his breathing. His breaths were hitching and shaking, he'd been fighting this off all afternoon but it happened anyway, what a failure--

"Come on Cas. You got this. Breathe with me." Four in, six out. Cas focused his efforts, tore his thoughts away from panic and toward the physical sensation of their lungs seeking each other. Two in, a shudder, a hitch, three out. He could feel a couple warm, slightly calloused fingertips drawing soft lines against his neck, soothing the oxygen along. 

They stayed like that for a while, Cas working to release the barrage of anxious thoughts and struggling to keep his tension under control. He thought intently on Dean's sternum brushing against his every few seconds, let his mind empty of other thoughts entirely. His brothers and the meeting tomorrow. In four. Poker night at the apartment. Out six. Dean's gentle 'shh, shh' and other comforting ministrations beside his ear. Out six. He fought to ignore the creeping feeings of intrusion and selfishness, taking so much of Dean's energy and time, making him worry. Out six.

 

A half hour later, the friends were still lying beside each other, Cas's breathing back under control, both fairly exhausted. 

"Talk to me," Dean murmured. "Was that about poker night?..."

Cas sighed. "A little." He explained about the lunch plans. Dean grunted in annoyance.

"That's fucked up. Treating you like a fucking afterthought, calling you the friggin' day before." 

"I don't...know how I'll be feeling when I get back from it," Cas responded. "It's just so much pretending in one day, Dean. Pretending for my brother that I'm not a stain on the family. Pretending for your friends that our relationship isn't...so close. It makes me n-nervous. And I was already feeling..."

"Well, I mean, I can call the guys, tell them...we can cancel the--"

"Dean, _no._ That's not...it's not necessary. Honestly. I'll just read my book. Maybe just...keep them all off my ass tomorrow night?"

"All right. Yeah." Dean's phone vibrated and he glanced down at it.

"I'm sorry, Dean. I know you've got other...your friends..."

**When are u getting here? Ur missing soooo much shit!**

**Dude. Aaron is beggin me to get u here. He def wants to BANG U DUDE!**

**Just tell me if ur comin at all. Yes or no man come onnn ur blowin ur chance with him**

Dean lowered the bright phone screen from before his eyes, resolved himself, grinned. "Nah," he soothed. "It's a Tuesday night. What the hell else have I got goin' on?"

He let out a groan and pushed himself up from the mattress. "But, man, I gotta take a shower..." A fucking long one... He felt a weak grip on his wrist.

"Please...don't leave yet..."

And he didn't.

 

|| WEDNESDAY

 

Cas woke to the sound of The Who's "Baba O'Riley" echoing down the hall from the bathroom. Running water and muted, off-key singing swirled around his head as he opened his eyes. His back was damp with a tall line of still-recent sweat; Dean must have lain there all night with him. He swallowed down a lump in his throat that felt like dry hay. His body felt so weary, a symptom of the dread that chewed up his empty stomach. As much as he tried to find one, he knew there was no excuse, no way out of this assuredly horrible meeting with his older brothers. True, Gabriel would be there -- but Gabe had only a 50/50 chance of not being as big of a dick as the other two, and for some reason Cas couldn't put a name to, he anticipated a very high dick level.

The water shut off. Cas stretched his body like a cat, then curled his knees into his body and relaxed into the mattress. How was he supposed to gracefully face his family when he could hardly even face getting out of bed?

A few moments later he felt a tug on his foot. Groaning loudly, he pulled his face out from its tucked position and raised an eyebrow at his damp roommate, a towel wrapped tightly around his waist. Dean flashed his brilliantly rogueish grin. "Mornin', Cas! How bout some pancakes?"

"...Mmf," he replied, burying his face into his own pillow. Dean chuckled.

"Come on. I think the strawberries in the fridge are still good."

Cas sat up, slowly, reluctantly. His hair stuck up violently in various directions. "They're not. And I don't think my stomach can handle that much anyway."

Dean nodded sagely, arms folded across his chest. "Unh-huh. Eggs, then. I'll make you two, angel." With a quick wink, he strode back out of their shared bedroom, towel still wrapped around his waist. Cas smiled.

_You got this._

 

As it turned out, however, he really fucking didn't. 

His shirt was fucking wrinkled. Cas stepped off the bus and squinted anxiously down at himself. He'd known better than to wear anything but his corduroy pants on a two-hour bus ride, but he had fallen asleep in the weirdest position, and now his shirt was a hopeless cause. He ceased trying to brush them out and hissed loudly. "Fuck!" 

Santignos was six blocks down from the bus station, and by the time he'd arrived, he had succumbed to wearing the charcoal cardigan he'd had packed in his satchel for later. In Cas's opinion, it was the lesser of the two evils. He was going to catch shit for it either way.

He hovered nervously near the entrance, glancing at his watch. 11:01. No way they wouldn't already be here. Saying a silent prayer to nobody, he rolled back his shoulders, breathed deep, and went inside.

"Castiel."

Cas swallowed at the use of his given name. _Relax._ He gave a polite smile. "Raphael. It's...good to see you."

His tall, broad-shouldered brother - the second oldest in the family - stopped in front of him in a wide power stance, hummed his disapproval. "Lying was never your strongest suit, Castiel."

"Well--"

"Is that really the best outfit you could manage?" Raphael asked dryly, looking him up and down. "I wouldn't even let you sit down in that."

Before Cas could come up with a response, another, sickly sweet voice sounded out from the dining area. "Cassie! Hey, baby brother!" Cas looked over to see his third-oldest brother Gabe already seated at a circular table.

With obvious reluctance, Raphael motioned for him to go join the table.

Santignos was a high-end restaurant tucked away along the northern shore, specializing in under-the-table dealings among high-paying customers who wished to keep their affairs quite private. The simple yet elegant table decor appealed to those wary of hidden weapons or bugs. Floor to ceiling windows overlooked a patio containing a series of gentle waterfall installments. Curtained doorways sheltered private back rooms for high-priority patrons. Cas made his way toward a table near the windows.

Gabriel's face turned from general whimsy to slight bewilderment, a silent comment on his outfit, Cas knew. But there was nothing more to be said. He nodded in greeting, then turned to the other side of the table.

"Hello, Michael."

 

 

"Raise five."

"Bullshit. Are you kidding me? You're bluffin'."

"Whatever, man." 

"Hell. I fold."

"Hey, Sammy, grab me a beer," Dean called to his younger brother, an incredibly tall pre-law student with shaggy brown hair who was cramming in a few slices of pizza in the kitchen.

"You got it," Sam answered, his mouth half full of pepperoni.

"Can I have one too?" asked a thin, dough-faced boy across the card table from where Dean sat. 

"No way, Garth," Sam responded from the kitchen. "You drink one beer and you won't even be able to hold your cards."

Garth grumbled disappointment into his hand, the other idly tapping on his chips.

"Come on, Jo, you in or you out?" Dean prompted toward the fourth player. The blonde girl had her hair in a ponytail, was slouched back in her chair, eyeing her cards. She raised an eyebrow.

"Calm your tits, I'm thinkin'."

"Well, hurry the fuck up, 'cause I wanna get this show on the fucking road." To Jo's right, a brunette woman (who may or may not have been doing it with Sam) tapped her heel impatiently on the table leg. Dean shot her a look. "What? I'm just saying."

"Hmm...." Jo looked around the table, sizing it up. She bit her lip and sighed, dropping her cards. "I fold."

"Mm," Dean grinned. Ruby leaned forward on the table, smirking darkly toward the elder Winchester, and slid her chip toward the pot.

"Make your move, pal."

Dean stared Ruby down. He rolled his eyes lazily down to his hand. Four 9s. He smiled and laid them down on the table. "Four of a kind," he announced unnecessarily. Ruby's face twisted.

"No fucking way, Winchester. I can't believe you got such a ..." she laid her cards down on the table, one by one. It was a straight flush. She smirked. "....good hand."

"Son of a bitch!" Dean yelled, pounding his fist lightly on the table to a chorus of eager laughs and oohs. Ruby scooped the pot as Sam dropped a cold one into Dean's lap. "No fucking way!"

"Fucking _way,_ Dean Winchester," Ruby giggled in response, taking a gulp from her own bottle. Dean laughed quietly in amazement at his shitty luck, popping the top off his bottle. Sam's not-girlfriend was damn unreadable.

As the rest of the table chattered away, Dean heard the familiar click of the key in the front lock. He turned his gaze to the door as Cas, looking completely harrassed in his softest charcoal cardigan, the sleeves stretched out from obvious tugging, slid silently into the home.

"Caaaas! Hey, man!" Sam's cheerful voice filled the space, grabbing the others' attentions. Cas nodded softly in response to a chorus of greetings, slid off his shoes, and, wordlessly, crossed the space toward the balcony. The others turned back to the game. Dean frowned. Maybe he should go talk to him. But nobody else seemed to care enough to make any comments toward Cas, and he had said he'd wanted to be left alone. Maybe after a little while--

"Dean, come on, it's your turn to deal."

"Huh? Oh..." Dean gathered up the cards and shuffled, his gaze shifting back to the corner near the sliding door - Cas's reading nook. There was a small papasan chair that his friend always curled himself into to read a book. He watched the ritual with a concerned fondness - step into the chair, fold his ankles, pull his arms around his knees, tug the cardigan over him like a blanket, pick up his book, flip to the dog-eared page, and read. What a cat. He shook his head, tapped the cards on the table, and began to deal.

 

The next four rounds went by in a haze; Dean's mind was distracted. Cas didn't even look at him, didn't communicate to him a damn thing. The angle of the chair made it impossible to see his face. He couldn't get his mind off of what it meant. Was he pissed? Scared? Just tired? And why the hell had he gotten home so late?

A soft thud reached his ear.

He glanced toward the chair, where Cas's book, some German archaeologist's novel, lay splayed open on the floor. He frowned.

"....Dean....DEAN? Hellooo?"

Dean blinked back around the table. Jo scoffed. "Seriously, dude. If you're that worried about your cards you should just fold. You're not fooling anyone."

Dean chuckled awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck and dropping his cards. "Right. Fold. Guess my luck's just not on tonight." He pushed away from the table and stretched. "I needed to get some air anyway. Y'all smell like ass." The game continued. He made his way over to the balcony and crouched down beside the tilted chair, and the figure looking very small curled up within it.

"Cas," he murmured, idly stroking the back of the other man's head. He could have been sleeping. But his fingernails were driving themselves into his arms in a death grip. Dean glanced behind him at the others. Nobody was paying attention. "Cas, buddy. What do you need?"

Cas shook his head; as he did, his muscles began tensing, and his body shook with his inner struggle to relax them. Dean leaned forward and kissed his forehead softly. "Give me a minute." He stood up and opened the balcony door, stepping out onto the small space and sliding the door halfway behind him.

Their apartment was crammed high up into a series of tall buildings; during the day you could see all the way to the water. At night, the city lights could almost be just as peaceful. A cool breeze whipped around him, bouncing off the neighboring buildings like pinball from the shore. It smelled like almost-rain.

_Dammit._ He'd figured tonight wasn't gonna be easy for Cas, but at least he might have had a chance to go out, hit up a bar with his brother, maybe find a good-looking girl at a club and go back to her place. Man, he just needed to get out, let loose, run free for a night. _Selfish_ , he reminded himself; _someone needs you, you help them out._ It was his friggin' motto most of the time, and always with Cas. He would never hesitate to be there for him. He was just frustrated, _god,_ he needed a lay - and he had no chance to go out and find one. He almost wished he could take a page out of Cas's book, wished he could just turn off his rampant desire. At least for a while, until life got less crazy. But he and Cas, they were who they were. He'd spent too much time denying who he was not to accept his nature.

Four in; six out.

He reached toward Cas's small, struggling basil plant, brushing the tiny leaves with his fingertips before reaching down to the soil. He picked up a small piece of jagged, painted ceramic, two eerie blue eyes peering up at him. He brushed the brown flecks from the crevices of their favorite good luck charm and headed back inside.

"Here you go, angel," he whispered, pressing the piece carefully into Cas's palm.

"D-Dean," he shivered back, almost a moan. His head rolled forward against his knee. Dean glanced at the table.

"Alright hey, we probably only got like, a half hour left for our game. Okay? You wanna...you wanna go to the bedroom until then?"

A slow nod. Dean patted his arm reassuringly and stood back up to rejoin the table, reclining slightly and taking a deep drink of beer.

 

"Hey, he doesn't look too good....Dean I think your roomie's gonna puke."

"You wasted, Cas?"

"Knock it off," Dean scolded his tablemates. "He's just exhausted. Long work day. Let him be."

Garth laughed. "No fuckin' way he's not trashed right now--whoa--"

Dean shoved out of his seat, disturbing the chips, and bounded his way over to where Cas now leaned against the wall near the bedroom, looking like he'd just gotten the wind knocked out of him. He gripped him and sank to the floor with him, pulling his shuddering form into his lap. The apartment had fallen strangely quiet; he put it out of his mind. He'd talk to Sammy later. 

"Cas, you nauseous?" he whispered, pressing their foreheads together, his thumbs rubbing comfortable circles into Cas's back. 

"Mm," he confirmed and Dean suddenly wished he wasn't wearing his second favorite shirt. 

He heard his brother clear his throat behind them. "Uh, what do you say guys, should we call it a night? Cut Ruby off before she bleeds us dry." He was met with general assent and the group began to pack up. Their consequent murmured exchanges, however, prickled the hairs on the back of Dean's neck.

Two days in a row. Rubbing a hand down his face, Dean wracked his brain, trying to guess what the hell could have happened at that meeting to trigger such a bad attack. 

He heard the door open and looked up. The apartment emptied fairly quickly, leaving only Sam in the entry giving him a look that clearly said _call me later._ Then it was just the two of them.

 

Once Cas had his footing again, they made their way out onto the balcony; Dean unhooked their hammock and strung it up, settling them both inside it comfortably. The breeze rocked them slowly. It was a little cold for Dean, but Cas said he needed the cold. They were silent. Eventually Dean pulled a woven blanket across their bodies. _You don't need to stay with me,_ Cas had once told him. _I do it alone all the time._ But the other boy couldn't even fathom leaving Cas feeling like a one-man army against his monsters. Sammy would call him overprotective. Dean thought it was better to be overprotective than under.

The pale crescent moon sat high in the sky by the time Dean persuaded Cas to go back inside and warm up. He was calmer, talking. His muscles wearily obeyed his commands. As Dean latched the sliding door, sniffing from the change in temperature, Cas rested his hand on his shoulderblade. "Your game."

Dean shook his head firmly, turning to face him. "Forget it. I was way down anyway. Probably saved me from losin' worse." They settled on the sofa, Cas's head resting against Dean's shoulder. He was crying softly.

"My...life....is over," Cas spoke numbly.

"Whatever it is, your life ain't over. Just tell me what they wanted."

Cas exhaled in a six-count, wiping his nose on his charcoal sleeve. "He..." He tried again. "The...company. They're moving their main site. H-here."

Dean frowned. "What?"

"Raphael, Michael...they'll be. They'll be relocating here as well."

"To oversee the move?" But Dean already feared the answer.

"Permanently." Cas swallowed thickly. "By the end of the month. I'm...I'm gonna have to quit my job....find a new place to live....where the hell am I gonna go Dean, I need the city, I don't have any other home--"

"Slow down, there, roadrunner." Dean held up his hand. "First of all, you're not quitting your job, and you're not leaving the city."

"You don't understand, Dean," Cas said harshly, sitting up. "I _can't_ stay here. Michael, Raphael, I can't be this close to them. I can't survive that." He punched the couch cushion with a pathetic fist. "They've taken everything from me. And now my home, and you...."

Dean sighed, trying to couch his frustration. "Cas. You're not skipping town because I need you to stay right here. When the time comes, we'll figure out what to do about your brothers. Right now, you should probably just chill. And breathe."

"But--"

"Stop," Dean ordered. "You'll work yourself back up. I get that you're scared. Okay, I do. Your brothers are dicks." With a finger he tilted Cas's chin back toward him, gazing deeply into the depths of blue that never stopped giving out light - even when brimmed with tears. "But you gotta trust me when I say that you and me, we'll figure out a way to get through this. Together."

A few more tears snuck their way down Cas's cheeks. But he nodded.

They slept on the couch that night.

Dean was agonizingly hard in the morning.

 

||THURSDAY

 

"Why wouldn't you tell me?"  
"There's nothin' to tell, Sammy -- we're just friends."  
"Uh-huh. Cut the bullshit. We all saw what you did, Dean. That was a whole lotta not-just-friends."  
"It ain't like that."  
"What is it like?"  
"We're close, okay. It's just...how we show we care. We're just close."  
"Dean. I _am_ aware that you're bi. You don't need to no-homo your way out of admitting that you're _fucking your roommate._ "  
"Dammit, Sammy, I'm not fucking Cas! He's not that--way!"  
"And now you're trying to tell me that Cas is straight? Sorry Dean, but you can't tell me there's nothing there between you two. I'm not a moron."  
"I'm _telling_ you, that Cas doesn't...he's not....he doesn't fuck, okay. So it ain't like that. We're close. Jesus, he's my best friend, Sam."  
"I mean, okay, so you're not having sex, you're just...dating the guy."  
"You know I'm not looking for that...kind of thing. I'm telling you. We're. Just. Close."  
A silent pause.  
"Sam?"  
"....Well, I guess if you're sure. But Dean...maybe you should think about what he is to you. I mean, there's close, and there's...you guys. I've never seen friends act like that."  
Dean rubbed his eyes.  
"Listen, Dean -- hey I gotta get back. Talk to you later, okay?"  
"Yeah."  
"Just think about what I'm saying."

Dean hung up the call, stared blankly at his phone screen. Maybe he really was lying to himself about Cas. Maybe it was all just too weird.

 

|| SATURDAY

 

_Our fifth day in Thuringia proved fruitful, particularly so for Dietrich and myself. We were lucky to witness a discovery of no less than four small artefacts; I shall expand upon the first one -- a flint._

Cas lazed about in the round chair, one foot dangling over the rim, entranced in his reading. It was insanely peaceful to read of civilizations long lost, and of gentle discovery that leads to questions, answers, and even more questions. It always came back to the wonderful myth arc of humanity. Stories like these were better than getting high.

The door flew open with a bang, startling Cas out of his reverie. He whipped his head around to see Dean's body locked in a fierce, full kiss with a bear of a guy, he had to have been at least 28. He had an attractive amount of thick red scruff, beefy arms holding Dean tight to him, faded denim jeans which hugged his thighs and thick-soled boots on his feet. They stumbled across the room, Dean kicking the door shut behind them. The man gripped his fingers into Dean's hair, pulling back to stretch out his neck, which he promptly began to kiss and bite. Cas, dazed and slack-jawed, could only stare at the scene in silence. The bundle of arms and legs tripped hastily into the boys' shared bedroom; the door clicked shut.

"Oh my god," he breathed, still staring at the closed bedroom door. "Oh my _god_." Dean didn't bring his "dates" home without a decent heads up. For Cas to even _be_ there was a rare occurrence. And he'd never witnessed anything quite so...carnal.

He half-laughed, but it quickly turned to annoyance. "Shit...guess I'm sleeping on the couch tonight...."

Four in. Six out.

He picked up his book, scowled. He'd lost his page.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys. I am RLY bad at poker references. Please love me anyway. :-)


	3. Interlude || Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cas strongly dislikes Dean's new fling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A brief scene for you all :3

It was six o'clock in the morning.

A strong, dark hazelnut roast was just what Cas needed to wake up after his restless night. The walls of their tiny apartment were too thin, and unfortunately his headphones were in his bag -- in the bedroom. It was too cold on the balcony or to go for a walk. So for hours after Dean brought a man home, Cas read his book and tried not to hear.

Cas was not, in fact, repulsed by sex -- he'd just never had any desire to have it. Truthfully, Cas had even _had_ sex once. But it was a few years ago. And it didn't matter anymore.

He drank deeply, feeling a hot sting on his tongue. It was regrettable, but he needed the drink. _To fuel my bitter soul._ He snorted quietly into his mug at that thought. Good thing he wasn't a writer. Maybe someday he'd make a fascinating anthropological discovery; then he could write a terribly boring book about it.

Maybe he needed more coffee.

The bedroom door clicked closed. 

Cas glanced up in time to notice the man from the night before, boots in hand, walking straight toward him. _What the hell, I thought he'd left sometime in the night,_ he thought frantically, more than a little cranky that he'd been caught in his kitchen by some stranger fuck buddy of Dean's, and worse -- Cas was only wearing socks, underwear, and his droopiest sweater. He self-consciously pulled the sweater more fully over his exposed shoulder; unfortunately, there was nothing he could do about his pants. The guy swaggered over, leaned up against the kitchen island, and smirked across at him. 

"Morning, chief."

Cas felt his face turn bright red. After a brief _it's-too-early-for-this-shit_ stare, he turned his back to the stranger and busied himself with brushing stray coffee grounds into the sink. _Maybe he'll just leave._

"Not a big talker, are you."

 _Fuck me._

"Name's Benny. You know, I did think that I saw someone in the corner there last night ... Dean, he told me you were uh, out. Guess that ain't so." He chuckled. "So, you're the roommate? Didn't catch your name."

Taking a slow sip of his coffee, Cas turned back around to face him. "Cas. I ... don't know why he thought that." The man, Benny, had a very particular southern accent. From a region of Louisiana, if he wasn't mistaken.

"You make strong coffee, Cas?" Benny grinned at him; his sharp canines made Cas feel strangely distrusting of the older man. "Cuz, not to be a bother, but I uh, I'd love a cup 'fore I hit the road."

_No, no, no, NO, no. Say no._

"It's strong," Cas responded eventually. Well, now he had to serve him some. Fuck this entire situation. He poured out a second mug and slid it to him. Benny had finally noticed his lack of pants and was eyeing him with amusement. Or enjoyment. Cas blushed a further shade of red and dropped his eyes from the other man's face. He had not signed up to be objectified by some guy this early in the morning. Or ever.

The man took a sip, sighed in satisfaction. "Now, that sure is a great cup of coffee. You must be the hot barista everyone and their grandma flocks to the local coffee shop for."

"I have no affiliation with the local coffee shop," Cas responded bluntly. "I'm a historical linguistics intern."

"Kinda literal fella, aren't you?" The older man chuckled, something Cas really didn't like. He squinted irritably at him. 

"I doubt Dean is waking up anytime soon," Cas told Benny, who was drinking his coffee very slowly. "It looked like you were on your way out."

"Hold on to your britches, chief, I'm just tryin' to get to know Deanie-boy's good friend Cas," he uttered, a strange look in his eye. Cas could feel the heat of his cheeks spread to the tips of his ears. "How exactly good a friends are you?"

Coffee sloshed out onto his hand when Cas set his mug down a little too forcefully. "I think you should leave," he growled, a little taken aback by just how distraught the guy was making him. "It's not as if you'll be coming back again."

"Oh, an' you know that, do ya? Hunh. See," Benny drained the coffee from his mug and ran a hand over his scruffy beard, "that ain't the sorta impression I was getting from the guy last night."

"How could you get any impression at all, you seemed far too busy sucking his neck to notice much of anything," Cas snapped. He exhaled hotly and turned away. He could feel the stupid man's eyes boring a hole in the back of his neck. Finally he heard a dull thud, glanced back to see Benny pulling on his boots. 

"Well, it sure was nice to meet ya, Cas," he concluded, his tone less than friendly. "Take care now."

 _Fuck you,_ Cas thought irritably. His head hurt now, and he definitely needed more coffee.

||

When Dean finally dragged himself out of bed four hours later, Cas grumpily lectured him about letting strange 30-year-olds stay the night.

"He could have robbed us, Dean," Cas continued. "In fact, if I hadn't been out here I think he would have."

"Come on, Cas, what have we even got worth stealing?"

"I don't know, the TV, maybe? My vinyl collection?"

"You think he wanted to steal your Paul McCartney records?"

"Dean, this isn't funny!"

The other boy hid his smile behind a bite of toast. "It's a little funny."

"The guy was like a vampire out for blood, Dean. You looked more like his victim than his sexual partner. Did you even get to know him at all before you ran back here, not even _texting_ me a heads up--"

"Hey!" Cas was startled slightly when Dean pushed his stool away from the counter and stood, frowning lightly. "You've got no right. I knew what I wanted last night, and I went out and got it. Benny's not a friggin' burglar, and I'm sorry you had a shitty night. I didn't know you were home - sorry that I forgot to check. That's on me. But you never texted me either. So maybe you should shut up about shit that doesn't concern you. It's not like you even know anything about this stuff."

"Dean, I was just--"

"Well, I -- ... Yeah. I know." He groaned. "Man, I'm hung over. I can't have this conversation right now. Sorry I snapped.

"And, for the record, he was not a vampire. And, _also_ for the record, he was pretty great in bed. So." Dean offered a light tilt of his mouth, trying to ease the tension they'd built themselves into as he slid back into his seat at the counter.

Cas bit his lip. Then he reached over and stole a triangle of toast from Dean's plate. "Well," he shrugged, "for someone who isn't a vampire, he definitely did a number on your neck."

"Aw fuck, I got a hickey?" Dean groaned, fingers touching the side of his neck gingerly. Cas huffed at him, bit into the toast. They ate in silence.

Finally, Cas found the courage to mumble out, "So ... are you going to see him again?"

Dean looked at him strangely -- trying to read him, Cas surmised. His friend offered him a shrug. 

"Well ... he was ... fun."

Cas nodded softly, deflated. He didn't understand his friend's attraction to a guy like that. And he _really_ didn't understand why he had such a problem with it. 

"Allosexuals," he muttered to himself, shaking his head.

"A what-of-sexuals?" Dean asked, unsure of whether he was supposed to take offense.

Cas rolled his eyes, snatched Dean's last remaining toast triangle, and walked away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the Benny fans reading right now, I know this chapter's a little negative toward him, but don't worry! This was just from Cas's perspective and these two idiots are just sizing each other up right now. I promise it won't be like this the whole time; I love Benny :-) 
> 
> Thanks for reading! Feel free to leave a comment - what you like, what you don't like, something you'd like to see in a future chapter -- anything really! I'd love to hear it!


	4. Clean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cas cleans.

On the first Monday in May, Dean walked into an insanely clean apartment. His eyes swept from the shining kitchen countertops, to the shoes in tidy rows in the entryway, to the fully-packed bookshelf in the corner. The distinct sound of a tired vacuum cleaner invaded Dean's ears. Dean slid off his shoes and left them splayed, his unease growing with every step closer to the ajar bedroom door. He pushed open the door, wondering what, exactly, he was walking into.

Cas was facing the back wall; he had his headphones on - and not much else - as he bobbed his head in a rhythm Dean couldn't hear at all above the vacuum's whirring. He dragged the vacuum back and forth across the rug between the two fully-made beds. Dean scowled and folded his arms at the sight of his bed, not a single rumpled pair of boxer briefs or discarded sandwich wrapper upon it. He noted with even more irritation that his desk, dresser, and even the _closet_ had been tidied up just as neatly, everything tucked into place and arranged.

The whirring faded down and out; Cas leaned down and tugged the cord out of the socket, beginning to wind it back up. Dean stopped the plug with his foot as it snaked past him. Cas pulled, frowned, and looked up.

"You've been busy," Dean declared, bemused.

"Oh," Cas responded, pulling down his headphones to rest against his neck. 

"Cas James Novak, why is my bed made?" he asked, one eyebrow raised in expectation. Cas stood up, nervously scratching his bare chest. He glanced around the room like he was trying to scrounge up an answer for him. He finally met Dean's gaze and shrugged.

"I just...needed to...clean?"

"Ugh, you are so neurotic," Dean grumbled, dropping his arms to his sides in defeat. Cas gave him a look that read as a mixture of fed-up and harrassed; he then busied himself with packing up the vacuum cleaner. 

"That's not...really an appropriate thing to say to someone, Dean," Cas finally said, slipping past him through the doorway to put away the appliance. "But I'm very aware of that fact." 

Dean rolled his eyes and went to collapse firmly onto his bed, the sheets scrunching and wrinkling around him. He let out a slow, low groan, releasing all of his tension into the environment around him. The air smelled like Febreeze. 

"...Seriously?" came his friend's voice from the other room. "You see rows of shoes and decide to leave yours in the middle -- of -- ugh -- " 

Dean threw an arm over his eyes to block out the light fixture and pretend he wasn't listening to Cas. _Mango._ It was Tropical Mango Febreeze.

"-- _Seriously?_ I just made your bed, Dean!"

"Exactly. It's _my_ bed. And I want to lay on it. Sue me."

"Seri--"

" _Seriously!_ " Dean mocked, sitting up. "I can't even lay on my own bed? I can't even kick off my shoes?"

Cas frowned deeply from the doorway. "It just--looks messy. It's out of place."

"Yeah, well, whose fault is that," Dean mumbled, going to lay back down with a sigh. He was stopped by a swift kick to his foot and sat back up. "What?!"

"Dean," Cas simply responded, running his hand over his hair. "I just. Need it. Clean. Just for now. You can mess it up when I leave."

 _Leave? Hmm._ Dean watched Cas's face carefully. "Well, how kind of Your Grace to allow it. Where exactly are you going?"

"I, er, I have ... plans tonight." Cas walked over to his dresser and thumbed through his folded shirts. Dean rested his eyes on the curve of Cas's lower back, trying to convince himself the appreciation was purely aesthetic. He'd apparently stared too long, though; Cas cleared his throat, watching him over his shoulder.

"Plans?" Dean asked.

Cas rolled his eyes, pulling the chosen shirt over his head. "Yes, you know, plans. A pre-determined social engagement with a specific time and setting. Which means, unfortunately for you, that ass-grabbing is out of the question tonight."

Putting aside his curiosity as to who the hell Cas could possibly have plans with, Dean smirked and folded his arms behind his head. "Then can you at least turn back around? I wanna savor the moment."

"You're ridiculous."

"No," Dean sighed dramatically, "just lonely."

"I'm sure you'll figure something out." But Cas turned around anyway, a hint of a smile on his lips, and picked out the perfect pair of pants.

 

||

 

"Isn't this place great?"

"Gabe, why the _hell_ did you drag me out here?"

The shorter man smoothed down his hair and nodded invitingly to a few women walking past their stools at the bar. One of them smiled directly at Cas, whose face suddenly felt way too hot and he dropped his gaze. A sharp elbow nudged at his ribs. 

"Oh, come on, lil bro -- you're not still on that whole "sex is boring, woe is me" thing, are ya?"

"It's who I am, Gabe, and there's even a term for it, I've already--"

"Cas, Cas, _Cas,_ lighten up and have some _fun!_ Come on. The ladies don't bite. Unless you're into that kinda thing." Gabe wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, and Cas sighed. He didn't know why he tried.

"Aaaany-old-how," Gabriel continued, "besides trying to get you laid, the reason I wanted you to come out with me tonight was so I could talk to you, brother to brother, about something real important." 

Cas could feel his stomach knotting itself. He inhaled deeply. "What is it?"

Gabe looked him squarely in the eye. "It's about your role...in the family business."

And there it was. Cas's heart dropped into his feet. Gabriel must have foreseen his unpleasant response, because he turned to the bartender and ordered a second rum and coke. He slid it to Cas, who sipped it slowly.

"You're well aware, I presume, of how pissed off you're making Michael right now by not returning his calls? I mean, Christ, Cassie, he's been in town for a week already; you didn't even attend the dinner with the board of advisors! Now, I know those kinds of shindigs just ain't your style, but don'tcha think some things are more important than your god-awful haircut and your weirdo attitude?"

Cas irritably patted at his messy hair. It never did do any good.

"I made it clear to Michael that I don't want any part in his business," he responded shortly.

" _Our_ business," Gabriel corrected warningly. "Where's your sense of loyalty, Castiel? Michael has always provided for us all. He's the head of the household, and that _means_ something. It means that when he asks you to attend a dinner, you do it. And when he tells you that you're on the payroll, you say 'yes, brother,' and you do your work!"

"I don't owe Michael anything!" Cas hissed, his hand clenched tightly around his drink.

"You owe him _everything,_ you ungrateful little kid! Ugh," Gabe groaned, turning his head to survey the crowd at the club. "He's the only reason you stayed out of the foster system, Cas. Because Raphael and I sure as hell weren't gonna raise you. Michael stepped up when our dear old Daddy died. He took care of you. And then, at the first sign of distress, you flit off to Emerald City to get your kicks. Well, Dorothy, you're done with college and you're almost 24 and you got responsibilities to face. You can't hide in that tiny speck you call an apartment for much longer. You've got to come home."

"Michael didn't take care of me; he hired servants to take care of me. Wherever Michael is...that's not my home," Cas muttered. Gabe rolled his eyes.

"Does family really mean that little to you, Castiel? Look, I'm not saying you gotta love the guy and hug him to death next time you see him. All I'm asking is that you step up and do your duty to the family. The sooner you do that, the sooner everyone stops fighting." Gabe stopped abruptly and busied himself with his drink.

Cas paled. "Gabriel," he began, slowly, "Who's...fighting?"

"Forget it," Gabriel replied shortly. And Cas knew that was the end of that. "Just promise me you'll think over what I said. Hmm?"

Cas chewed his lip, spun the small straw between his fingers. Finally, he nodded at his brother. Gabriel smiled easily. 

"Excellent!" He clapped Cas on the shoulder rather hard and gestured to the rest of the bar. "Now. Back to the task at hand. It's a big weekend for you, buddy! So, let's get you laid!"

His brother was in for a good amount of disappointment.

 

||

 

The next day, Dean came home to find their furniture slightly rearranged and all their counter-top food stored away in the cupboards. 

Cas was sprawled on the couch, a book in his hand and a Belle & Sebastian record on the player. He looked up, smiled apologetically, and slid his feet up to make room.

Dean didn't even bother to ask. He sat down, pulled out his laptop, and opened his latest horror game. Cas's toes splayed themselves against his hip. 

They didn't talk about the cleaning. They didn't talk about anything. 

Maybe today they didn't have to.

 

||

 

The day after that, Dean was the first one home, received a very weird text to go wait in the bedroom with headphones in until further notice. Utterly perplexed, he followed orders, staring up at the ceiling and wracking his brain for something that might even come close to an explanation. 

Finally he felt rather than heard the front door slam and sat up, staring in its direction, as if he could somehow develop the power to see through walls if he tried hard enough.

He started to pull off his headphones until his phone buzzed.

**No cheating.**

_He's got to have ESP or something, damn._ Dean stood up and paced the small room. What the hell was Cas doing out there?

"Probably installing a new friggin' refrigerator," he grumbled aloud, though he couldn't even hear his own voice over the Led Zeppelin filling his ears.

And finally, _finally,_ when he almost couldn't wait anymore, Dean got another text.

**Living room.**

Dean sighed in relief, tossed the headphones onto his pillow, and bolted out of the room.

 

"Ca--s?" he managed to choke out.

Sitting in Cas's lap on the carpet, tongue flapping loudly in the air, was--

"A--dog?" 

It was about the height of their coffee table, with brown and gray fur; bent, floppy ears; and a short nose. It tilted its head at Dean curiously, shifting its paws eagerly.

Cas smiled hopefully up at Dean. "His name's Alfie. Well--I didn't name him. I found him at the shelter. But you can name him whatever you want."

Dean stood there, stunned. He stammered, "I...can name...?"

Cas removed his arm from around the now-squirming dog's neck; it made a beeline for Dean, leaping up in excitement and resting its paws on Dean's thigh. Dean reached down and scratched its ears. The dog barked, short and sweet -- it seemed to really like Dean, and though he had never really thought he'd wanted a dog before, Dean was having a hard time resisting its big brown eyes and soft, flat head. He let out a laugh, still a little confused, and then looked back over to Cas, questions all over his face. 

Cas merely bit his lip. "Um. He's for you. Happy birthday, Dean."

Alfie leapt up and licked at Dean's chin. He tilted his head away. "It's not my birthday." Was he having a weird-ass dream or something? Cas knew his birthday was in December. They celebrated it every year. But the dog was definitely not a dream...

Cas cleared his throat awkwardly, then smiled at him. "No, it's not."

Suddenly, Dean realized. His jaw dropped as he moved to Cas and sat down in front of him, Alfie following him with a happy whine. He rested a hand on Cas's cheek. "It's yours."

 

Before they were roommates, Cas and Dean had been schoolmates. Dean transferred to Cas's class in the tenth grade, and due to a gross misunderstanding from both perspectives, they started out loathing each other. It took them an entire semester for things to finally come to a head, and once they had literally fought it out (on the sand volleyball pit, of all places), their friendship blossomed almost overnight. By the time they were juniors, the two were completely inseperable. They went to every school party together, celebrated holidays together, even worked at the same crappy Gas-N-Sip together every summer. 

There was really only one thing the two never did, and that was celebrate Cas's birthday. He wouldn't even tell him when it was. Once, Dean had tried to just pick a random day and throw him a party, but Cas found out and shut it down before it began. He gave Dean the cold shoulder for a week.

Which is why it was so amazing that he'd just given it up, in such a _Cas_ kind of way.

Unable to help himself, Dean lifted his head and laughed, loud and hard. It was joy mixed with relief; the breath he'd been holding for about a week released easily. The cleaning wasn't about Cas leaving; it was about this damn _dog_. This dog that Cas gave _him_ \--

"Dean...why...why are you laughing?"

Dean wiped tears from the corners of his eyes, his full-blown laughter trickling out into happy chuckles. "Dude...you just...you..."

Cas looked anxious, chewing his lip, fiddling with the hem of his sweater. Dean snorted, then smiled in reassuring joy at him.

"Cas. For _your_ birthday, you bought _me_ a dog." He laughed again, patting Alfie's wiggling back reasurringly. "You're amazing, you know that?"

That, apparently, was not the answer Cas had been expecting. His cheeks filled with a warm pink tint; he reached forward and stroked Alfie's side with a smile. "I...thought you were going to call me weird."

"Well, yeah, that too," he teased, ruffling Cas's hair with the hand not currently being licked by Alfie. He dropped it to rest on the back of Cas's neck, then leaned in and pressed his forehead to the other's. "Uh...thank you."

"Do you...like...? I mean, are you...happy?" Cas asked, his eyes fluttering closed. Dean tilted forward, pressed his lips to Cas's softly.

"I love him. I'm happy." He pulled back suddenly when a third, much slobberier nose joined the party, wiped the noseprint off his cheek with a smirk and said pointedly, "But if we're keepin' this dog, I'm holding you to this. I'm not taking care of him by myself." He kept his tone light, but his eyes locked with Cas's, spoke something much more important. _You better stick around, Cas. You better be here for us._ His mind drifted back to the conversation they'd had a month ago, about Cas leaving the city, about getting away from his family. Maybe the dog, maybe the birthday, maybe these were Cas's way of cementing himself. Maybe.

"Of course, Dean," Cas murmured. Alfie yipped in seeming agreement. Dean smiled again and rubbed the dog's sides vigorously.

They were best friends. _No,_ Dean corrected himself. They were family.


	5. Surprises || Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> " _Dean's pocket buzzed as his cell phone rang. He grumbled under his breath and set the sneaker down onto the coffee table, standing and fetching it out._
> 
>  _ **Dad calling,** the screen flashed._ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait everyone!

Perhaps _family_ was too strong a word.

Dean groaned loudly as he wrenched his favorite shoe out of Alfie's mouth, grimacing at its fresh coating of saliva. He'd already lost a pair of chucks earlier this week to the dog's klepto habits - seemingly nowhere to be found. On top of that, the mutt was whiny, and needy, and had to pee all the goddamn time. He refused to sleep anywhere but on Dean's bed at night, to the point that Cas had taken to bribing Alfie with treats to get him to sleep with him. It only worked for an hour or two; around 4 am Dean would awaken to the smell of dog breath against his face. 

Why had Cas ever thought this was a good idea? Dean was _not_ a dog person, after all. Really. They stank, they got into trouble. They were a complete nuisance.

Alfie licked the back of Dean's hand, a quiet whine escaping from deep in his throat. Dean narrowed his eyes.

"Oh, don't try to kiss and make up with me, mutt," he snapped, gesturing accusatorily at him with the shoe. "You keep this up and I'm dumping you off at college with Sammy."

_"It ain't me, it ain't me, I ain't no fortunate one, no! ..._

_It ain't me, it ain't me, I ain't no fortunate one, no!"_

Dean's pocket buzzed as his cell phone rang. He grumbled under his breath and set the sneaker down onto the coffee table, standing and fetching it out. 

**Dad calling,** the screen flashed.

That was a can of worms he didn't want to open right now. John Winchester calling usually meant that he was either drunk and pissed, or someone was dying. If it were the latter, he'd call again. If the former, well. A drunk John Winchester would usually give up after the first try.

Dean pressed the Ignore icon and slid his phone back in his pocket.

"We ain't through," he said aloud, rounding back on the dog. The returned attention made Alfie's tail thwap vigorously against the floor, thud, thud, thud, thud. Dean rubbed a hand over his face. 

_"It ain't me, it ain't me, I ain't no fortunate one, no! ..._

_It ain't--"_

Whipping his phone back out, Dean smashed the green icon and jammed the phone to his ear. "What the hell do you want?"

There was a moment of silence on the other end. Then, "Uh...Dean?..."

Dean winced. "Cas? Sorry. I thought....you were someone else."

"Oh."

"What's going on?" He stepped forward to quickly intercept Alfie from jumping onto the coffee table in pursuit of the shoe. 

Cas hummed in annoyance. "I'm stuck at work. Apparently there's some holdup with the bus. I would walk, but there's a hole in my shoe."

"The mutt?" Dean guessed. He tugged at the dog's harness until he hopped down off the table. Pinching the phone against his shoulder, he steered Alfie toward his crate.

"We needed to go to the store anyway," Cas continued, sounding hesitant. "Do you think you can...?"

"I'll be there in fifteen," Dean replied automatically, shoving at Alfie's hindquarters until the dog was fully inside. He locked it. 

"Okay. I'll just--" Dean clicked the phone off before he could hear the rest of Cas's statement. He snatched the keys to his baby off the counter, slipped on a hole-free pair of sneakers, and headed out the door.

||

"--wait here, then." Cas sighed and pocketed his phone. Was it too much to ask for him to say goodbye before ending a call? The young man settled himself on the steps of the office building and waited.

||

Dean's beautiful black Chevy Impala rumbled into the parking lot at Fred Meyer twenty-five minutes later. Dean's father had passed it on to Dean after a bad work accident had left John partially paralyzed. When Dean took off to Seattle, he took his Baby with him. John was able to walk again these days, albiet poorly -- but Cas didn't think the man would ever come to the city to take it back; it was too far from Kansas, and he was rarely sober enough to commit to any sort of big scheme like that.

Dean parked and switched off its engine. The boys stepped out and headed inside. 

Cas loved grocery shopping. There was an exhiliaration that came with restocking one's pantry or picking out new cleaning supplies, both of which the roommates were much overdue for. 

"Don't forget, we need to find some --"

A flash of black hair, a pair of piercing blue eyes, a dark tailored suit...

"....Some...? Cas, some what?"

He couldn't respond; he was frozen in his tracks, his knuckles white from his death grip on the shopping cart. His eyes focused on the back wall of the superstore as a terror swept through him. Had he really seen--was that really--

_Michael?_

But there was no way. No way was Michael Novak, senior executive of Novak Pharmaceuticals, walking around a Fred Meyer in Greenwood. And yet he had been so _sure_ he'd seen him. Cas's heart was racing. The last time they had met was at that dinner a month ago. It had ended on a very negative note. What if his patriarch brother had followed them here, to intimidate him, to drag him away and force him to comply with the family's wishes? What would he do? What would he say? Was Cas imagining it, or was his chest too tight? Was his skin on fire?

 _You're going into a panic attack,_ some sane part of himself whispered. This was bad, so bad, he was in the middle of Fred Meyer for fuck's sake. He could feel his arms tense and shudder, over and over without end, but his eyes couldn't move from that damn spot on the wall. People were gonna start staring, and what if he couldn't bring himself back out of it? What if he collapsed again in public? Oh, god, he was going to end up in the E.R. again, he was all alone, he couldn't--

He became slowly aware of a gentle pressure against his forearm and remembered. _Dean._ Dean was there. He wouldn't let him break. He wouldn't let people get to him. He would keep him safe.

Eventually he registered Dean's voice in his ear, murmuring soft reassurances. He focused on the sounds. Dean was telling him it was all right, he was there, _you can beat this, angel, pull yourself out of it..._

Cas brought his eyes to meet Dean's speckled green ones, wide with concern, though thankfully his face remained lightly neutral to discourage strangers' attention. He breathed out slowly and released the shopping cart, wanting nothing more than to fold himself into Dean's arms but too afraid to do such a thing in public.

Dean squeezed his wrist gently. "Hey, what...happened?"

Cas shook his head. "Got triggered," he mumbled; it was enough of the truth for now, and although he had never truly realized how triggering his eldest brother's presence was, well, he certainly knew it now. "Can we j-just...finish shopping?"

For a moment, Dean was hesitant, and seemed to want to press him for more information; but thankfully he nodded and lifted his fingers from around Cas's pulse, taking the list from out of Cas's back pocket. "Alright...let's see...laundry soap."

"A-and dryer sheets," Cas added. Dean huffed softly.

"That ain't on the list."

"No, but I know we're out. I used the last one the other day."

"What the hell do we need dryer sheets for, anyway?" Dean grumbled. "How does a stringy piece of perfumey paper make any difference in drying?"

"It helps with static cling," Cas argued. 

"Yeah, well, it's just another thing for the mutt to dig his teeth into, if you ask me." 

Internally Cas breathed a sigh of relief. Their bickering was strangely grounding and he felt his muscles relax, although he kept a nervous eye out for any more unexpected family sightings for the remainder of their shopping trip. Thankfully, there was none, and Cas truly believed he must have imagined it as they rang up their supplies, split the cost, and made their way home.

||

The impala rumbled into its designated parking space. Cas was so relieved to be back in the safety of their own neighborhood, far away from the public eye, that he was in a pretty cheerful mood as they remained seated for a minute longer, finishing their sing-along to a Bad Company classic. The two joked and laughed as they unloaded the trunk. Maybe the rest of the night would be this easy.

Cas held two grocery bags in each arm and his keys in his mouth while he rounded the final flight of stairs to their apartment door, Dean following right behind him. But when he turned into the hall, his mouth dropped open; the keys fell with a clatter to the ground.

He felt a brush against his shoulder, shot his gaze toward Dean who had stepped up beside him. Dean's green eyes glinted with a look that Cas hadn't seen in years. 

Dean didn't return Cas's look, instead taking another slow, unbelieving step toward the apartment door and the tall figure leaning heavily against it.

"Dad?"


	6. John

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which John Winchester is an ass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alcoholism, homophobia cw
> 
> Angst ahead!

Click. Click. Click. Whirrr. 

The refrigerator’s noise intruded painfully into the suddenly cramped apartment. Cas's ears were pounding from the sheer pressure in the room. Dean stood in front of the TV, his arms folded tightly against his chest, his expression unreadable - even to Cas. John Winchester sat on their sofa, his damaged leg propped up on the coffee table and his hands folded in his lap. His face, in contrast to his son's, spoke volumes.

And then there was Cas, standing awkwardly in the kitchen, trying to ignore the plaintive whines coming from the crate by the bathroom. He swallowed the itch in his throat to keep from clearing it. He really had no clue what to do. After Dean had reluctantly allowed his father to come inside, neither Winchester had uttered a single word. The groceries sat, still bagged, on the kitchen counter. Cas had the intention of putting them away, thus effectively giving himself an excuse to not get involved in whatever shit was about to go down. But now that he was here, one hand on the head of broccoli, he wasn't sure he could bring himself to make any sort of noise at all.

Another long, loud whine emanated from the kennel and Cas shot Alfie an apologetic look, but Dean suddenly stomped across the room and opened the crate. Cas frowned slightly at him, rushing forward to catch the dog as he made a joyful beeline toward the newcomer. "Alfie, sit!" He gripped Alfie's harness, kneeling on the carpet near the man he hated almost more than his own family. "Dean--"

"What? We're home. The mutt can be out." Dean stepped over to stand beside his roommate, a challenging look in his eye, daring his father to comment. John's eyes narrowed.

"Amazed you can afford to take in _another_ stray," the man uttered finally, and Cas couldn't help but wince at the words. He knew he wasn't the sole reason that Dean left home on such bad terms with his father - he wasn't even the main reason. But he was still _a reason._ And John Winchester did not forgive.

"Yeah, well, he's ours," Dean grumbled back. "Cas, leave the dog be."

Debating which was worse - Alfie provoking John or Dean turning his wrath unnecessarily on Cas - he stood up and released the collar. Alfie marched forward with a purpose, sniffing intently around John's thick-soled boot on the ground. He jumped up and put his front paws on John's knee. John swatted at the dog's nose and he whined and trotted away, settling himself beside the balcony door with a slobbery sigh. Cas threw a nervous glare toward Dean, but the boy wasn't looking his way. So, finally, he returned to the kitchen and plugged in the coffee maker. "Do, uhm, would you like some coffee, Mr. Winchester?"

"No." John shifted on the couch to meet his son's hard gaze.

"Okay then--"

"Why the hell are you here, Dad?" Dean cut in, stepping in front of Cas's line of vision in a way that felt almost protective. He quickly busied himself with the groceries, his ears prickling and his heart pounding.

"Funny, I figured you would've tried to guess."

"Well, I don't know, so just say whatever you drove all the way here to -- wait a minute, did you really drive here?"

"Yes, Dean. I drove. In a lousy piece of shit from Bobby's lot - I have you to thank for that."

Dean huffed. Cas slid a bag of rolled oats into the cupboard. 

"If you're here to take the car back--"

John stood up quickly, groaning as he planted his other boot on the ground. Alfie perked his ears up but decided not to move. "I'm not here for the car, boy."

"Well, then, what?!" Dean gestured angrily. "Because you clearly came all this way for something, and if you're not gonna talk about it--"

"It so happens that I'm in town with Bobby for a bit of business," John cut in coldly, his shoulders squaring up. "And it ain't your concern as to what. But I'll be damned if I don't stop by and see my sons while I'm in town."

Behind a box of cereal, Cas frowned in confusion, but stayed silent.

"Yeah, well, you know where Sam is, so go see him," Dean hissed. To Cas's surprise, Dean turned away from his dad and stood beside him at the counter, roughly grabbing the bag of produce to sift through.

"Dean..." he murmured softly.

"Boy, like it or not you're my son too, and I maybe wanna strangle you for everything you turned your back on -- but we're blood," John snapped, limping forward a few steps. Dean growled, manhandling the cucumbers before dumping them unceremoniously into the fridge drawer.

"Dean, maybe I should do that--"

"I got it, Cas," Dean snapped, grabbing the tomatoes out of the bag.

"So tell your old man how it's going, you out here," John continued, acting as if nothing were wrong; but Cas could hear the edge in his voice. He felt like throwing up. 

"How it's going?" Tomatoes in one hand and the fridge door in the other, Dean whirled around to face his father. "It's fucking great, or at least it was until you showed up here."

"I'm just curious how my son is, Dean."

"Fine, then. What do you wanna know?"

"Well, how's your job? Still at Foreman Auto?"

"Yeah, Dad, I'm still at Foreman. It's a job."

"You shoulda taken my place with Bobby," John grunted. "Foreman ain't gonna let you move up, you're wasting your potential there."

"Well, Dad, it would be one hell of a commute to Kansas everyday from Greenwood," Dean shot back. Cas's eyes darted between the argument and the still-open fridge door. 

"Dean..." he started. But neither of them were listening.

"You had your fun out here, you got your degree, you're a good engineer, Dean, you should be putting your skills to use!"

"I can put my skills to use just fine right where I am!"

"Yeah, how is that going?" John replied, his voice raised. Cas chewed his lip. "You got any prospects? Jesus, Dean, you're twenty-five! You could be running your own business by now! Bobby's been ready to hand it off for some time! I set everything up so you could take it over--"

"Dad, I'm _only_ twenty-five! I don't want my own business, not now, and maybe, I dunno, maybe never! I like my life!"

"I always knew your brother would take off, chasing the stars like a fool but you, you were right there by my side, every step of the way. And I know what happened with your mother affected you, it took its toll on us all, but that's no reason to just run away from your responsibilities--"

"Shut the hell up! How dare you bring Mom into this! And don't act like you didn't run away from _your_ responsibilities -- to your damn kids!"

"Dean, no--" Cas reached quickly forward, but was too late. Dean threw the tomatoes into the fridge; one of them splattered all over the shelf, juice dripping down and pooling onto the floor at their feet. Alfie sprinted over to the mess, immediately lapping at the spill, and Cas felt like crying. But Dean didn't seem to even notice.

"If your mother were still here--"

"If Mom was still here, she'd tell me to live my life however I want!"

"Don't you put words in her mouth, she wanted you to carry on the business just as much as I did!"

"Mom always supported me! She wasn't the one who drove me out of Kansas! You did that, Dad! You can't accept who I am, and you never will! Look at you, you can barely stand to look at me right now! Why is that? Is it because I'm standing so close to Cas? You think I'm gonna touch him the wrong way? Maybe we'll kiss? Huh? Is that what you're afraid of?"

"Dean, please don't," Cas murmured, taking a step back.

John looked about to murder Dean where he stood. "Boy, you better watch out," he growled. Cas shrank back even further. Alfie ambled over to him and sat on his feet. 

"Ever since high school you always hated who I turned out to be. And you always hated Cas, god knows why. Hell, you always hated the west coast, so I guess I pulled a hat trick on you, Dad." Dean grinned humorlessly, slamming the fridge door shut.

"I didn't bring your experimentation into this, Dean, you did. You ungrateful, disrespectful--"

"Oh, yeah," Dean laughed, stepping forward and closing the last gap between them. "My experimentation, sure, whatever helps you sleep at night. No, wait, that's right -- you don't sleep, you just pass out with a bottle of whiskey in your hand. How'd you even get out here? Huh? Did Bobby drive the whole way while you drank yourself into thinking you're something important? While you conduct some shady, vague _business_ in the Puget Sound?"

"Boy--" John's fingers wrapped around the front of Dean's shirt and in an instant Cas had his phone in his hand, ready to call the cops if it came to that. He wasn't exactly a strong person himself; he felt completely helpless. Dean was silent, tense.

 

Alfie yipped in the stillness, making Cas jump. Hands shaking, he reached down and gripped the dog's harness. He exhaled. "Dean..." he pleaded in a low voice.

Maybe Dean heard the worry in his voice, because he raised his hands and stepped back from John, who released his hold on the shirt. "Nothing's changed in six years," Dean muttered, "and nothing's gonna change now. You should go."

"Guess I should," John rumbled, his eyes darting between Dean and Cas, who was still squatting next to the dog in the corner of the kitchen. He hobbled stiffly toward the door. 

The older man stopped in the entry, staring at the wooden keyholder on the wall. "What the hell is that?" he asked. 

"It's ... a good luck charm," Dean answered, his eyes following his father's to gaze at the broken face of the angel figurine, perched on top of the keyhooks as it had for the past two weeks. Cas had set it there, thinking it might cheer them both up whenever they headed out for the day. It was nice.

"It's ugly."

"Yeah, well, we like it. So. Bye, Dad."

John stepped back into the kitchen, his eyes boring themselves straight into Cas’s chest. Slowly releasing his death grip on Alfie's harness, Cas rose to his feet. John Winchester leaned forward, close to his ear, and whispered.

Cas inhaled sharply, reaching back to catch his unsteady frame on the kitchen counter, and John huffed back to the door.

"I'll call," he said, and left.

Dean watched his father go with a firm gaze, but as soon as the door clicked shut he fell wearily onto the couch, his head rolling back against it. "Fuck him."

"Y-yeah," he mumbled. 

“What the hell did he say to you?”

“I don’t... I ... “ He stared at Dean. Dean closed his eyes. 

The fridge whirred.

Suddenly, Dean sat up and sniffed the air. "Uh. Something burning?"

"Oh, shit--" Cas scrambled across the kitchen and turned off the now-scorched coffee maker -- it had been switched on completely empty and was entirely forgotten in the argument. He pulled out the plug for safe measure and then stumbled backwards until his spine connected with the kitchen island, and the weight of everything that transpired that day came crushing down on him. He sank to the floor, silent sobs shaking his shoulders. A few moments later, Dean slid down beside him, his arms resting loosely on his knees as he let out a long, slow sigh. Alfie trotted over and licked at Dean's fingers.

They didn't say a word for the rest of the night. 

They slept on the kitchen floor. 

In the morning, they didn't make coffee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with me through this chapter - I delayed posting it for so long to try and make it better, but I'm afraid I couldn't write it very well, so this is all I can offer you! :-/


End file.
